The Angel's Song
by Aetas
Summary: During the reconstruction time at the Opera Populaire, a homeless girl finds the Phantom's abandoned lair. When Erik returns, he is first resentful of the girl, but soon finds her to be a better friend than he might have thought.
1. Prologue

She didn't know where she was... These streets weren't meant for the filth of the city. They were reserved for those who had money. She had wandered too far into this aristocratic world entirely by accident. How could she have known that music shop was the most expensive in Paris? That dump certainly didn't look like it.

And that simple mistake was now really going to cost her. All she wanted was a violin... Could she help the fact that it wasn't free? Growing up she could have gotten anything for free. Just produce a few tears and she'd get a piece of bread, a bit of a cake, little things like that. But she was a big girl now. Seventeen years old and 'responsible for her own actions.' She'd heard that a couple of times when she was caught snatching pastries from the bakery. It wasn't serious enough to get her in real trouble, so they let the occasional cookie disappearances slide by, more or less unnoticed. After all, it was i just /i a cookie.

It was at times like these when she began to wish she had listened to that advice. A violin was hardly as inexpensive or as common as a cookie. But it was so beautiful. . . She couldn't help it. Being raised the way she had been (which you couldn't really call being raised), she never had money to spend. Nor did she have parents to spend money on her. She considered herself indpendent. Others considered her a worthless thief. And that was why she was now being chased by the police.

In the pale moonlight, the opera house seemed like an intimidating structure, its cold features harshly illuminated beneath the night sky. Its stone walls, turned an ashey grey from the fire, were not at all inviting, but she had little choice. It was either this or jail. Darting into the shadows behind the building, she searched for some kind of opening, a door, a window, anything that would lead her to safety. The shouts of the officers were distant, but she had no time to waste. At last she found her entrance. A metal grate at the very bottom of the building seemed to be her only hope. Tucking the instrument under her arm, she tucked at the grate, pulling as hard as her strength would allow. After a few moments of struggle, the hinges screamed their surrender and the barred metal grate swung open, allowing her inside. She slipped easily down into the darkness, landing roughly on a cold stone floor. Chills traveled up through her, the ground feeling frigid against her naked feet. Reaching up, she pulled the grate closed to erase any evidence of her entry. With one hand holding onto the violin, she put her other hand out to the side. It almost immediately came in contact with a wall. She found the same wall to her other side. So she was in some kind of passageway... Seeing no other choices, she started forward and her journey began.

She didn't exactly know what had happened here at the Opera Populaire. All she knew was from hearing a few bits of conversation on the streets. The most she could remember was that some deformed lunatic had kidnapped this Christine Somethingoranother and then somehow made the chandelier fall. She assumed that was what had caused the fire. Of course, she didn't care very much, as opera wasn't a part of her life. But the thought that only a few short months ago this place had been full of music was slightly chilling. Now it seemed so lifeless and unwelcoming. She began to wish her life had been different. That way she could have seen the Opera Populaire in all its splendor.

She held one hand out before her, eyes open wide, though nothing could be seen. She had continued in such a way for what felt like forever in the never ending tunnel. Surely it would end soon.

Her hand came in contact with something soft. It was fabric, delicate and smooth. She stopped where she was, taking a moment to attempt to figure out what she had walked into. It was some sort of curtain, falling all the way to the floor. Her hand moved to the side, and she found that there was a thick frame around the curtain. She found this odd since, to the best of her knowledge, curtains weren't often displayed as pieces of art. She ran her fingers over the smooth metal, its surface cold to the touch. With a slight gasp, her hand jerked backwards, a stinging pain rising in her fingertips. There was something jagged and sharp at the edge of the metal. It felt like broken glass... And it hurt. A lot. In the darkness she couldn't see the damange that was done to her fingers, but she felt its effects: The throbbing sting and the trickle of blood dripping down her palm. Now that she was wounded, it would only make sense to continue forward. After all, going back wouldn't be very smart. The police could still be waiting for her. So, very carefully, with her injured hand (the other still held the violin tightly, as if someone might come up and steal it) she pulled the curtain to the side, slowlt stepping through. The moment her foot touched the ground, she yanked it back. There was broken glass all over the floor! What moron left this kind of mess? she wondered, wishing there was some light so she could see just what kind of mess she was dealing with. But, of course, no light appeared, no magic glowing orb came to guide her. The darkness only seemed to increase around her, as if mocking her as she stood there in indecision.

She carefully, i very /i carefully, put her foot down a second time, reaching as far as her leg would allow all the way to one side. That way maybe, just maybe, she'd avoid the glass. A triumphant grin slowly spread across her face as she found just the right spot to step. Steadying herself with one hand by holding onto the metal frame, careful to avoid getting cut a second time, she reached with her other foot so that she was now out of the passageway. Once more, one arm reached out in front of her and she began walking.

It was only a second or two before she got hurt yet again. Her toe banged head-on into something very hard and painful, and whatever it was responded with a metallic clatter. "Dammit!" she cursed, right now wishing even more for some sort of light. As she bent down to see what it was she had hit, she found that her wish was partly granted. What she now held in her hand was a candelabra. Unfortunately, there were no candles in it, or anywhere nearby, it seemed. Nor were there any matches to light the candles with. She gave a small sigh, but began to feel a bit more hopeful. If there was a candelabra, there were bound to be candles and matches i somewhere /i . All she needed to do was find them.

She groped around on the floor for a few moments, but found that there was nothing more of any interest. A few pieces of broken glass and a long piece of rope were all she found. They did her no good, unless she felt like killing herself. She shuddered. What a horrible thought.

Standing up once more, she stumbled forward in the darkness, slowly placing one foot down after the other. After some minutes of being in hopeless darkness, and stubbing a few more toes on a couple of stairs, she was overjoyed to discover candles. They were just everywhere, and all standing in candle i holders /i too. This was certainly what you could call convenient. She felt about a couple of seconds more, searching for the matches she knew had to be somewhere. Her happiness increased tremendously when she found them at last. Hastily fumbling to open the box, she pulled out a single match, striking it against the rough side of the box. The tiny flame gave her enough light so she could see a single candle before her, and she lit it. She blew out the match, tossing it aside, and used the candle to light the others. It wasn't long before the whole row of candles had been lit, and the flames now flickered in triumph against the darkness. Only now was she able to see where she was.

The place was much stranger than she had expected. Apparently, she wasn't in the opera house. She was i underneath /i it. The room, if you could even call it a room, was almost cavernous is size and design, its walls, ceiling and floor all made of stone. A lake, whose far end couldn't be seen from where she stood, shimmered in the faint candlelight, its water shallow and murky. Papers, unreadable to her (as she didn't even know the alphabet), were carelessly strewn about all across the floor. And behind her, a large, towering pipe organ.


	2. Chapter 1

Messieurs Gerard Lamarre and Sinclair Rousseau -

It is my great pleasure to welcome new managers to my opera house. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on a job well done. Thanks to both of your perseverance and determination, I must say that the Opera Populaire is looking absolutely wonderful. I'm sure tonight's Re-opening Gala will be nothing short of splendid.

Included with this letter is a basic list of requirements and guidelines, to which I ask you follow closely.

Please be sure to give my regards to the stage manager, Madame Giry. If you have any questions concerning any of the requirements, she is the one to consult.

Thank you once again for your fantastic work on rebuilding this opera house.

O.G.

"That's it?"

Two men stood inside an office, their faces white with an uncertain fear. One stood, leaning over the desk, his hands supporting him as he looked at his partner. Gerard Lamarre was a practical man. Still fairly young, not older than 40 years of age, Monsieur Lamarre had been interested in rebuilding the Opera Populaire because of the amount of money invovled once the work was complete. Whatever artistic value opera house held for the community was not important to him.

The other man shook his head. He sat in his chair, one of those big, fancy leather things you'd expect to be in an office. Sinclair Rousseau was, by no means, what you could call traditional. He did things his own way, how he wanted. That was why he seized the opportunity to rebuild the Opera Populaire. He could run things the way they ought to be. So, while he oversaw all the plans and proceedings, his partner collected the money. He flipped through the pages in his hands, sighing heavily. "No, there's more. He says he wants Box Five empty. . . Free access to all parts of the opera house at all times, and-" The man's eyes went wide with shock. "Twenty thousand francs! A month!"

Lamarre could have had his eyes pop out of his head. He couldn't believe this! "Twenty... twenty thousand francs?" he repeated, his voice hushed down to a loud whisper. "Rousseau... Do you have any idea how much that'll cost us?" He sighed, falling heavily into his chair. Already he was having doubts about this new career. After a moment of thinking, he turned back to face his partner. "Who is this 'O.G' character, anyway? Who is he to tell us what to do?" His tone adopted a a slight prickle of anger as he spoke.

Rousseau seemed surprised at the question. He'd assumed that Gerard had heard about all of this beforehand. Most of what he'd heard, he thought, were nothing more than rumors. A lot was just too far-fetched to possibly have any truth. But nearly all of Paris new at least something about the mysterious events that occured in this theater, truth or not. "You mean you haven't... Surely you must have..." Rousseau was met with just an expectant stare, his partner still awaiting the explanation. He sighed, scratching his head absently as he set the papers down on his desk. The explanation began.

Oh, was it good to be back. After three years of living on the outskirts of Paris, he felt it was about time the reconstruction was finished. Upon arriving at the newly completed opera house, all his doubts were duly erased. The finished theater, by far, surpassed what he had expected. In some ways, it seemed the new Opera Populaire was even grander than the old one. And to think, if it hadn't been for him, this place would have probably just fallen apart.

Though he would have very much liked to have waltzed in through the main door, he decided that he didn't want to frighten anyone away. There was still probably someone a bit sore after the disaster, and he would prefer to be alive for the opening performance. So his entrance wasn't magnificent as he might have dreamed, but at least he was home. The metal grate easily opened for him, which was a surprise. No one, as far as he knew, had used it in years. It was strange how it simply swung open with just the slightest tug. He soon forgot about this as he began his descent into the darkness.

He couldn't exactly explain it, but as he came closer to his destinated, there seemed to be music playing. Each step that brought him nearer made the music seem even louder, as though it were filling the hall in which he stood. But, of course, that wasn't possible. The only music that could be playing would have to be from upstairs, and that was too far above him for it to sound so close. Puzzled, but still intrigued by this mysterious tune, he continued onward, determined to find out what was creating such a wonderful sound.

A gloved hand reached out and tugged back the crimson curtain, and a burst of light stung his eyes. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the sudden brightness. The scene before him made his eyes go wide. This wasn't possible... It just wasn't possible...

Candles, the hundreds he'd already had and perhaps even more, were lit all around the room. How could this be? No one had been here! And the music... The music played even louder, echoing through the very walls of this cavern. He stepped slowly and cautiously forward, his eyes taking in the scene in absolute shock. Everything was tidy, spotlessly clean. No papers on the floor, no glass, no anything. All the mess that had been left behind was entirely gone. Though he was quite surprised as it was, nothing prepared him for what he saw next.

As he turned a corner, he found himself frozen in place. He found the source of the music. Standing there, in front of the lake, was a girl. In her hands was a violin, placed upon her shoulder, and a bow, which danced across the strings with enviable ease. Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was shut. No sound came from her except that of the instrument she held. She made no movements except to play another note. Golden hair fell in delicate waves to her waist, her fair skin softly illuminated by the candlelight. She wore a dress of a deep, richly colored blue, its edges accented by a braided gold trim.

The two of them stood there, one still in shock, the other wonderfully oblivious. When at last, the final note was played, the violin was brought down from its place on her shoulder, her other hand falling slowly beside her. Her eyelids lifted slowly, revealing the pale gray color beneath. A moment of uneasy silence settled in before she, at last, turned and found that an unpexpected audience had dropped in. The silence didn't end, as both of them struggled to recover from their surprise.

She inspected the man closely, her lips pursed together tightly. He was actually sort of frightening. His clothes were all black, or at least black was the only color she could see, save for the white mask over the right side of his face. A dark cloak made him look rather intimidating, as well as the black fedora pulled close over his eyes. In the flickering candlelight, most of his face was in shadow, making him all the more frightening.

He didn't know what to think. Anger was gradually building up inside him as he stared at her with cold eyes. What was she doing here? This was his home. i His /i home! How could she have gotten here? He'd waited three years for this place to be rebuilt, and for what? To find himself without a place to live? His gaze fell to the violin still in her hand. A bit of his anger subsided as he recalled the wonderful music she had played for him. He'd never heard anything quite like it.

In a long moment of uncertainty, their eyes met. Neither knew what to say or do. To both of them, the other was the intruder in this place each and come to call 'home'. And yet, neither was able to be entirely furious. Annoyed, perhaps, that they'd been discovered, but nothing more.

The silence was unbearable. Still gazing up apprehensively into the man's eyes, the girl lifted the violin back up to her shoulder and began to play.


	3. Chapter 2

Minutes passed.

Neither the girl nor the man spoke a word. The girl went on playing. The man went on watching, mystified by her music.

The bow smoothly glided across the strings, as though to her the motion was as natural as breathing. Neither mind was able to stay in reality as the music snatched them up and carried them away to some fantasy place, each note creating something new.

One final note ended the song. Slowly the world around them faded back into focus. The girl's eyes slowly opened, but they did not turn towards him. The man still stood there, motionless. Once more, he was hit with a barrage of questions to ask. What was she doing here? How did she find this place? Whatever anger he'd had disappeared. He desperately wanted to be angry, to be absolutely furious at her, but whatever spell she'd cast upon him appeared to be unbreakable.

It was a long time before anyone spoke.

"Who are you?" was his only question.

His voice seemed to tug her back from whatever dream world her thoughts still lingered in. The words echoed inside her head, over and over, gradually fading away into silence once again. At last, she gave an answer.

"I'm Celine."

"So you mean to tell me that this... i Phantom /i is alive and well and back at the Opera Populaire?" Monsieur Lamarre was still rather skeptical. All this was just too... bizarre to be true.

Rousseau, a firm believer in the mysterious occurances those few years ago, let out a heavy sigh. He had a feeling Gerard wouldn't believe him. He could only hope to convince his partner to at least allow the Opera Ghost his box this one night.

"Look," Monsieur Rousseau began, "let's just leave Box Five open this one night and see what happens. There's nothing to lose."

Lamarre looked almost insulted when he said that. "Nothing to lose? There's money to lose!"

"It's just one night," Rousseau protested. "What difference will it make?"

After taking a moment or two to think this over, Lamarre finally nodded in agreement. "Fine. But just this one time. If nothing happens, I'm making sure that seat is the first to be sold."

He couldn't figure out why exactly he let her tag along. At this point, she was becoming almost a nuisance. But when she asked him if she could go with him, she sounded so innocent, so much like a child, that to refuse her just seemed horrible. Thankfully, as she followed him through the opera house, she was silent.

They arrived at the box no more than 10 minutes after the curtain had gone up. The actors already were on stage, the opening notes of the opera filling the theater. Celine had remained quiet the whole way here, but now that they were inside the auditorium, she could hardly contain her excitement. This was her first time seeing an opera, and what was even better was that she didn't even have to pay for it! Every so often, the man would have to yank her back from the edge of the box. If she leaned too far forward, someone might see. She was quite childlike in her fascination, he noticed, her eyes glittering with amazement. To him this was nothing special. To her it seemed to mean the world.

When the performance came to an end, the entire theater was on its feet with applause. Celine just sat there, grinning to herself, the remnants of the music still drifting through her head. She didn't look at the man beside her; She couldn't look away from the stage.

"Are all operas like that?" she inquired suddenly, the applause still thundering through the theater.

"Yes," was his simple reply. She really was quite strange, he decided. But that was only because he couldn't understand her. Their worlds were different, and he had no desires to get mixed up in hers, but it seemed he was in this by force.

Her smile broadened. "Then I'm coming to see every one."

What? After thinking that statement over for a moment, he realized that he couldn't let that happen. If she was going to see every one, then that must mean she intended on staying, something he just wouldn't allow. No matter who she was, no matter how long she'd been here, it was time for her to clear out.

"No, you're not," he stated, sounding rather annoyed. Immediately, the happy expression dropped from her face and she turned to face him, her eyes slowly narrowing as stared up at him .

"What?" It was difficult to read the emotion on her face. First it was plain confusion, which slowly gave way to utter disappointment. Behind it all was a slight hint of anger, as if the fury was currently kept at bay but soon threatened to break loose.

Was it hard to understand? Or did she just not hear him right. Standing up from his seat, towering menacingly over the poor Celine, he repeated himself. "You are not going to see another opera. You're leaving. Tonight."

Her expression changed to one of absolute horror. She brought her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide as she shook her head. "No... No! I'm not leaving!" She rose from her chair abrubtly, trying to look as tall as she could, but compared to the man she looked quite puny, no matter what she did. "You don't know how horrible it is out there!" This response, as she would soon learn, was entirely incorrent. She had no way of knowing what he'd experienced, and by her own selfish anger she'd turned him into a cruel, heartless person in her mind.

Without a second thought, he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, lowering his face close to hers. His voice was brought to a whisper, but was even harsher than it was before. "Don't you tell i me /i what it's like out there..." He didn't release Celine. He kept his gaze fixed right on hers, eyes narrowed as if channeling all his anger right into her.

Celine stared up at him timidly, her eyes clouding over with a layer of tears. He couldn't do this to her.. Just turn her out on the streets. That's only what everyone else had done for her. When she came here, she was happy. It became her own little world, in which everything was hers. Being told that she had to simply abandon everything she had come to know and love, that she was to return to her old life without a home, was so horrible, so unbearable...

The man's expression was unchanging, but in his head he began to realize how much this place meant to her. Still, it wasn't his idea to have her here, so it wasn't any concern of his what happened to her when she was gone... Right? With a force that knocked Celine back into her chair, he pushed her backwards, turning away from her. A deep sigh could be heard as he placed his head in his hand, going over the situation carefully in his head. Without looking back at her, he finally gave his answer. "You can stay for one more night. i Just /i one."

Celing, though slightly relieved, wasn't pleased with his answer. "And what'll happen to me tomorrow?"

The man didn't look back at her, slowly heading for the door to the box. "I don't know, and, quite frankly, don't care."


	4. Chapter 3

"I'm not leaving," was what she repeated in her head. "I'm not leaving, I'm not leaving."

The longer she sat there, the more time passed. And the more time passed, the more she realized that maybe she'd have to leave after all.

Neither person had spoken a single word since they'd left the box. They both now sat, each drowning in the other's silence. She sighed heavily, and quite audibly, a clear indication of her growing agitation. Without moving from her seat, she snatched her violin and placed it gently on her shoulder. She squinted her eyes shut and her eyebrows furrowed together, as though she became suddenly in deep concentration. The bow was rested against the strings, but no sounds came just yet. With her eyes still closed while in thought, she slowly, gracefully, began to play a simple little tune.

The man looked up, at first greatly annoyed that she had the nerve to start playing that stupid thing, but his angry expression was soon replaced with one of surprise. What she was playing wasn't just any song. It was from the opera they had seen that night. He stood up from his chair, taking a few cautious steps to where she sat. She didn't look at him, as her eyes remained shut as she continued playing her violin.

"Where did you learn that?" he asked suddenly, causing the music to come to an abrupt stop.

She looked up at him slowly, afraid to meet his gaze. "They played it at the opera tonight," she replied softly, hesitantly.

He was a bit confused. "Yes, I know. But how did you learn it?"

She didn't understand. What did he mean? She didn't learn it. . . "No one taught it to me, if that's what you mean. I just heard it."

He stared at her for a long moment, not sure if he really believed her. It was a bit strange to think that she simply listened to the music and then was able to repeat it on an instrument without knowing the notes. It could be done, but was difficult and would often take many tries to get it perfect. But, not only had she heard the song only once, she got it perfect on her very first try. "But... How do you know the notes?" He continued to question her, intrigued by her peculiar talent.

She raised a brow, looking as though she felt his inquiry were some sort of insult. "I don't," she bluntly stated.

He was quite dumbstruck, to say the least. How could she play... if she didn't know any notes? Perhaps her talent went a bit deeper than he had originally thought. He said nothing, only looked away, still attempting to overcome his disbelief. Silence settled back around them. Celine, not having moved from her seat, took to studying this man very closely. He was a very... confusing person, she decided. His moods were so changeable, and the changes were just too abrupt for her comfort. He was quiet, and had said very little to her this whole time, and when he did get into a speaking mood, it had only been to yell at her. She really wished he would talk a bit more... Normally, that is. Maybe that way they wouldn't have to feel so awkward around one another. And just why, she wondered, did he have to wear a mask?

"What's your name?" she boldly inquired. The question seemed to startle the man before her, as he looked back at her with his eyes quite wide. He didn't say anything for a moment. He looked at her curiously, trying to figure out what was going on in her head. All he could determine was the curiosity in her gaze, and that was where his deductions ended. With a small, quiet sigh, he answered, "Erik."

With some mystery removed from him, Erik seemed more like an actual person, one that she could maybe get along with... Her expression changed, and she seemed interested in finding out more than just his name. "Why do you where a mask?" The question came, inevitable. The man's friendliness dissipated and he turned away without a word.

"Well?" she insisted, leaning a bit closer, her violin resting precariously on her knees.

"It's none of your damn business!" he shouted, face wild with rage. Celine now knew that talking about his mask was dangerous territory, and she backed away, leaving him in his anger. So maybe Erik was to remain a mystery after all.


End file.
